


how to be a human being

by galactics



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 16:31:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9244391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galactics/pseuds/galactics
Summary: "The file was right; he hasn’t been free since he was fifteen. He had gone from adolescence to Deadlock within months, from childhood to chaos in seconds. A bastard and an orphan. He was the stuff of news stories and films. A walking, talking tragedy. If he were any younger, he’d be on a talk show.But that was years ago, and he’d matured since then."|the story of jesse making his way from deadlock to blackwatch. not mcreyes





	

**Author's Note:**

> tags for this chapter: contemplated suicide, mention of parent death, some violence

2056

His name is Jesse McCree and he’s bleeding so badly he knows he’s going to die. Something inside him is pulsing its last shaky beat like a stuttering bird. All he can see are the traces of war above him, bullets whizzing and the slow haze of reddish smoke. All he can feel is blood.

His fellows dwindle. Insignias of the broken clan are strewn about: spray paint markers from when they first entered the stronghold, jackets cracked with wear, broken collarbones and shredded muscles from enemy snipers aiming a little too far down.

There’s not much left of them. Not much left of him. His hat is missing.

He resigns himself to a slow death, and the sounds cease save for the whistle of the wind across the room, the death knell of the rebels.

The sound of helicopter blades fills him to the brim.

*

“Jesse,” someone says.

“Am I in heaven?” he replies, before he even opens his eyes.

Someone sighs. “Not quite, kid.”

He opens his eyes. He’s handcuffed to a hospital bed. Well. “I’m not dead,” he says, and finds himself slurring his words.

“Almost. You’ve been out for a few days now.” The man at the foot of his bed is frowning, eyes dead set on Jesse’s. “Your gang made a bit of a mess. Care to explain it?”

The slur fades as he struggles to prop himself up on his elbows. The pain is searing, but they told him to make like a bear. Get as big as you can. “I don’t talk to cops.”

“I’m not the cops.”

“I don’t talk to people bigger than the cops.”

The man’s scowl quirks. “They teach you that?”   


“I learned for myself.”

“You must be pretty smart.”

Jesse stares at him.

The man stares back. “So, should I sign your papers?”

“What?”

“For your prison transfer. If you don’t like talking, then it’s off to super-max. That’s where the rest of your friends are headed. Not that you’ll be seeing much of them.” The man’s frown becomes more severe. “That what you want?”

“Don’t matter what I want,” says Jesse. “Deadlock Gang means locked lips.” He sinks back to the bed, his muscles shuddering beneath him. Hopefully the man saw it as controlled.

The man stands. “Suit yourself.”

“Where are you going?”

“Not quite your business. Heal up, kid.” He leaves, strides full and purposeful.

Jesse gets the feeling he just met someone with the authority to make him disappear. Deadlock had none of them, but rather people with enough rage to disguise themselves as charismatic. He doesn’t know if he prefers whoever just left his hospital room.

The room is small, barely enough room for the bed and the row of stark white cabinets, glass panes revealing shelves filled to the brim with medical supplies, but one wall is glass and covered three-fourths of the way with a curtain, offering the slightest glimpse into the outside world. Yet even when he squints, Jesse sees nothing but white through the window. He’s trapped at one point in an endless landscape, unable to plan, unable to escape.

Deadlock never taught him what to do in a situation like this. He was always kept close to the belly of the operation, never went down with the frontline pawns. In a way, he still hasn’t.

“You’re lucky,” Rusty Marge would have said. “They’re keeping you alive.”

Either the pain or the drugs take his consciousness minutes after the man leaves, like a warning: you wake when we tell you to. At least there’s the window, one less way to be watched.

*

The next time someone enters, it’s a woman in a lab coat. She’s brunette and curvy. Jesse would’ve liked her back home. Now, not so much, when she’s fussing over him like a little kid and poking and prodding him. He’s too tired.

She shines a light in his eyes. “Can you  _ stop that _ ?” he snaps.

She blinks at him. “If you want to get better, then no, I'm afraid not.”

“Don’t care,” he says, and rolls over on his side so she’s looking at his back. He has to bite his lip so hard he draws blood to keep from whimpering.

She sighs. “Gabriel was not wrong about you, Jesse.”

“Don’t call me that.”

She pauses, and then he hears her say, to herself, giggling, “ _ Mr. McCree _ .”

He wishes he were dead, instead of trapped in an enemy hospital with these people.

*

The man, who he assumes is Gabriel, comes back. Jesse is still on his side. His fingers are clenched tight around the sheets, sweaty from the exertion of lying still while his muscles scream in protest. He keeps his eyes shut save for the slightest opening. He sees Gabriel, then the door sliding shut.

What he smells is different. Eggs. Warm bread, buttered. The salt and grease of meat. That’s a fucking McMuffin. The patron food of the Deadlock Gang. Cheap and easy. No one in a McDonald’s cares about turning you in.

His stomach growls, and he realizes he hasn’t eaten. There’s an IV in his arm, but it’s not real food. It’s a chemical breakdown.

Gabriel chuckles. “I can tell you’re awake, kid. Stomach did the talking for you.”

Everything in Jesse’s body clenches. His abdomen is in knots, his skin hot and tight. The drugs have done nothing for him ever since he took up his position. “I'm still not telling you anything.”

“I can see that.” The paper bag hits the bed. “Eat up.”

“You’re just tryna bribe me. I eat, I have to tell you something.” He hears teeth tearing into food. His stomach growls again.

The man speaks, voice a rumble. “If that’s what you think.” Gabriel pauses. “Think of this as your free pass. No talking required. Offer expires in two minutes.”

Jesse can practically feel the steam rolling off the food curling in his nostrils. This might as well be home: his mother’s breakfast potatoes sizzling in their pan, Jesse squeezing orange juice. He wants it so badly that he can see the sun streaming in the windowpanes. He wants to die again.

Sitting up is agony. Gabriel sees that from the start. “Whoa, whoa,” he says, grabbing Jesse’s shoulder. “Lean back. Don’t wanna tear your stitches. That’ll put you in a whole new world of hurt.”

“Already in it,” Jesse says and nearly rips his bag trying to free his prize. He eats a third of the sandwich in one bite.

“Should’ve bought three,” Gabriel says as he slumps back down into the office chair that’s been wheeled in, woefully out of place. “Forgot how kids are. I bet you’d eat a truck if I let you.”

Jesse looks at him, perturbed. “Who  _ are _ you?”

“Reyes,” the man says, and leaves it at that. “Any other questions?”

_ Gabriel Reyes _ . He makes a mental note to give that name to the Deadlock ringleaders and see if they can make anything of it. “Where am I?” Jesse asks.

“The watchpoint. Next?”

“Why haven’t you sent me to prison yet?”

Reyes sighs. “Because I think you can help me, and I can bet you’re not as stupid as you look.”

Jesse scowls. “Now I'm never telling you anything.”

“Like I said, this is your freebie.”

Jesse’s jaw works, eyes fixed on his captor. “Why’re you being so nice to me when you’re gonna throw my ass in jail?”

“Language,” says Reyes. “I'm a perfectly nice guy.  There’s no point in roughing you up. Might as well make your time comfortable.” He leans forward. “You’re getting fifty to life--they’re not going easy on you, even if you’re a minor. Weapons trafficking, conspiracy to commit murder, homicide, battery, racketeering. Criminal anarchy, though I don’t think they’ll get that one. The rest of your gang is going up on domestic terrorism charges.”

“How much is left?”

“Not much. The real members won’t get far with nowhere to go, and fences and the like are getting rounded up by the day.” He raises an eyebrow. “A lot of these guys are gonna have it tough in prison—gang members with no outside help.”

Jesse maintains eye contact. “I’ll live.”

“You might. I’ve read your record. Been on your own since you were what, fifteen? Joined up with Deadlock a few months later? Four years as a gunner; I bet you have some experience going up against folks bigger than you.”

Jesse narrows his eyes. “I can fend for myself.”

“Clearly. But you do better in a group.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“The gang picked you up, didn’t they? You know why? Because they saw you had potential, and they knew that anyone else who got a hold of you would be making things a hell of a lot more difficult for Deadlock. They knew you’d be useful with someone having your back.”

“I would’ve made it on my own.”

The eyebrow goes back up. “Sure.”

Jesse sneers. “What’s your point, old man?”

Reyes ignores the insult. “My point is that I‘m measuring you like Deadlock. It’s not just a risk for you to go to prison, it’s a waste.”

Jesse blinks. “You’re not just going to let me go.”

Reyes sighs. “That’s not what I was saying.”

“Then quit dancing. Make me a deal. Community service, maybe?” Sharp wit, sharp teeth. Deadlock is fading back in.

Gabriel levels his gaze. “There’s a place for you. You’re young, and we think there’s still time to turn you around.”

“Where? The DMV?”

Gabriel pinches the bridge of his nose hard enough that the skin goes paler. “Here, damn it. At Overwatch.”

Jesse hoots with laughter, the sheer irony of the biggest peacekeeping force in the world recruiting from the criminal pool. His stitches tense. He doesn’t care. “You want  _ me _ to join Overwatch?”

“Not exactly. Our black ops division, Blackwatch.”

His side feels like it’s going to burst. “Original.”

“Look, kid. The other option is life in a maximum security prison, where you live in a hole and maybe see another living person when you’re fifty.”

“Doesn’t sound too bad, if this place recruits people anything like you.”

Gabriel hauls himself up from his seat. “Alright. Mess around. Again, you can take it or leave it.” The scowl returns. “You’re not stupid, obviously. So think this over for more time than it takes you to scoff at it.”

“Who do you think I am?” Jesse asks. His neck aches as he struggles to keep himself upright.

Gabriel raises a hand. “Shut up. Think it over. Instead of rotting in prison, maybe you could try making right what you did for the last four years.”

Jesse glares as the man leaves, both of them embittered.

*

The file was right; he hasn’t been free since he was fifteen. He had gone from adolescence to Deadlock within months, from childhood to chaos in seconds. A bastard and an orphan. He was the stuff of news stories and films. A walking, talking tragedy. If he were any younger, he’d be on a talk show.

But that was years ago, and he’d matured since then. 

He lies quietly for some time after Gabriel leaves, on his back to keep his side from aching too terribly. His options are limited. He could go to jail, and lose his freedom again, or he could join Overwatch--Blackwatch--and spend every waking moment under the heel of the people who had just destroyed his life. If he had it his way, he’d throw himself from the glass window, shards raining down around him as he fell, wind tearing at his body, half-naked in his hospital gown. At least he’d regain control for a few seconds, or a half-second, however long it took him to hit the ground. If he escaped, he’d be chased; if he died, no one could follow him into the dark.

But Gabriel had brought no visible weapons for Jesse to take, and Jesse has no desire to test his ability to move from the bed.

The idea begins to fester in his mind, then. He pictured the Deadlock high-ups approaching their imprisonment, or in a court, staring down their lives as they knew them. Perhaps they thought him dead, piled up in the warehouse in a black bag. But as the charges came against them, as the evidence only one of their own could know condensed in the courtroom, as he failed to appear among their numbers or the names of the deceased, they would know.

A traitor. A witness. He escaped from their ranks.

One last “fuck you.”

The perfect crime.

*

Jesse is pretending to sleep when Gabriel walks in. The man stands at the end of the bed for a moment, waiting, then sighs and leans heavily on the rails. “Hey, kid. Up and at ‘em.”

Jesse winces, raising his hand to cover his eyes as they open. “Rude awakening, seeing your ugly mug first thing in the morning.”

“It’s three in the afternoon.” Reyes straightens up. “Have you made a choice?”

“Yeah. I think.”

“Yeah, or you think? Can’t be both.”

“Yeah. I have.”

“Well?”

Jesse hesitates. “What would I do in Blackwatch?”

“You’d be an agent. Go on missions. Help coordinate our supply lines, our contacts. Possibly go undercover. We’re going to utilize the skills you used in the gang.”

Jesse raises an eyebrow. “So I’d be a criminal with a badge.”

“We don’t carry credentials. But yes.”

The eyebrow goes higher. “What happens if you get arrested?”

“You don’t.”

“But if it did?”

“You’d get released immediately. Nearly immediately, anyway.” Gabriel cocks his head. “Worried they’d see your rap sheet?”

“A little bit.”

“Good thing you don’t have to worry about that in prison.”

“True.” Jesse stares at the man. They haven’t been compared standing up, but he bets Gabriel is taller. His build is imposing, shoulders wide and arms wound with muscle. His eyes are dark and go on for ages. If they fought, Gabriel would win. Or, if Jesse attempted to fight Gabriel. He knows he probably couldn’t wrestle a weapon from the man if he tried, and his earlier plan seems contrived.

The world is less and more clear at the same time, like he has fallen through his place into another, vaster one. Yet he knows what he’ll do. “I’ll join up on one condition,” he says.

Gabriel crosses his arms. “Name it, first, and I’ll see what I can do.”

“You give me my hat back.”

Gabriel laughs, one that rocks his frame and makes his eyes mist. Looking at him makes Jesse’s ribs hurt.

Jesse glares. “Don't laugh at me.”

Gabriel swipes at his eyes. “Sorry. Yeah, kid. You can have the hat back. Not now though—your doctor would throw a fit. She wanted to put the thing through a goddamn incinerator.”

Jesse’s fingers drum on the bedsheet. “But she didn’t, did she?”

Gabriel chuckles. “No, no. It’s safe and sound.”

Jesse looks around. “When do I get out, then?”

“Couple days. You’re in bad shape. Though I bet you know that. Doc recommends bed rest for a week after.”

Jesse settles back into his pillows, abdomen sore from the turbulence of the past few minutes. “So I get to sit around while the rest of ‘em go off to jail.”

“Most of them are already gone. Feds wanted them out of the picture.”

So his sweet revenge is negated. He feels cheated and bitter again. “So you were waiting around on me. That’s sweet.”

“Don’t think too highly of yourself.” The device at his waist chirps, and he removes it to glance at the screen. “I’ll let them know what you decided.” He sighs. Jesse feels the man is much more relaxed when he’s not threatening an invalid criminal with jail time. “Anything I can tell your doctor?”

“More drugs.”

“Aside from that.”

Jesse nods to the window. “What’s behind the curtain can’t be classified, can it?”

Gabriel sighs again. Jesse is learning that he does that often. “Guess not.” He walks to the window and holds down a button on the wall, and the plastic sheet retracts into the ceiling.

The impenetrable blanket of white beyond the window gives way as the sun rolls over the buildings, mountains and clouds emerging from the blur. They must be hundreds of feet up, practically in the sky itself.

Gabriel steps back. “That better?”

“Yeah,” Jesse says. “A little bit.”


End file.
